


wanna live a life from a new perspective

by shimmie (patrickrose7)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Confessions, Episode: s04e06 Open Mic, Gratuitous repurposing of canon dialogue, M/M, Mutual Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 18:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30025992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrickrose7/pseuds/shimmie
Summary: The song ends with the brightest smile on Patrick's face, and a round of applause seemingly impossibly loud. It thunders in David's ears along with his heartbeat, drowning out everything else. David wishes he could live forever in this moment as Patrick's gaze lingers on him and his ecstatic grin softens to something more tender, but he's brought back to reality with the introduction of Bob's beat poetry.----After a particularly pointed song choice at Rose Apothecary's first open mic night, David finds it increasingly difficult to ignore Patrick's signals.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 9
Kudos: 156





	wanna live a life from a new perspective

**Author's Note:**

> Me: _*agonizes over PWP for weeks*  
>  *rereads work 525,600 times plagued with self-doubt* _  
>   
> Also me: Have some smut, friends!  
> 

A fringed vest with nothing underneath. David hates how much he would love to see that. Button-up Patrick Brewer's bare shoulders and chest on display. Maybe he'll meet a local woman at the open mic, and she'll be so impressed by his musical talent that she'll leave her number, and Patrick will call her, because he's Patrick Fucking Brewer. She'll get to enjoy those shoulders and that chest, and probably other things. She'll get to see those loud eyes up close, and those thick fingers even closer, and—

"Fuck," David mutters, realizing the past few labels he'd applied to the body milks are upside down.

"Everything alright?" Patrick pokes his head out of the back room.

_Yes, just applied all these labels upside down because I was imagining you dating a hypothetical woman. Totally fine._

"Totally fine," David snaps, trying not to make contact with Patrick's innocent eyes, but finds his gaze drifting down to the deep V of his navy button up.

"Hey," Patrick says softly, planting himself right next to David at the counter. "Do you want to take off? Take a break before the open mic? I got this."

David tries his hardest not to whimper at the feeling of Patrick's hand resting on his forearm. He reduces the whimper to a shudder, which, still pathetic. Stupid Patrick and his emotional awareness.

"Or, I mean, you don't have to come back at all, I just—" Patrick backtracks nervously.

"No, I—I'll be there. Of course. I guess I could use a break, though, if you don't mind," David sighs, somehow feeling both calmed and electrified by Patrick's presence.

"Sure thing," Patrick squeezes his forearm with a warm smile. "Go get some rest, and I'll see you tonight."

"Thanks," David murmurs as he grabs his bag and sunglasses, offering a weak smile as he exits through the front door. It's mid-afternoon, but the sidewalks are empty and the roads are silent as he follows the familiar path back to the motel. Which, unfortunately for him, gives David time to dwell in his thoughts.

" _I like this for you_ ," Stevie had insisted after his birthday, when she drove them back to the motel. " _Maybe you're purposely ignoring the way he looks at you, or the way you look at him, but like, you obviously invited me to a date. He could be your boyfriend right now if you hadn't begged me to stay when the poor guy ran to the bathroom when I showed up. I'm still trying not to take it personally."_

Stevie doesn't understand, though. She's the first person he's fucked who stuck around, and even then it was probably just out of convenience. Or maybe it was just unavoidable. The first person who hasn't ghosted or run away disgusted as he revealed more of himself. And probably...his first real friend, as pathetic as that is.

He can't risk it with Patrick, no matter how much he wants to believe that there's something there; that Patrick is different. He needs to ignore the lingering glances and casual touches, the constant flirting and stomach flutters. They have yet to make it over that hurdle of being direct, but perhaps that's for the best, because he can't ruin this too.

\----

The store is _packed_. Patrons he's never seen before are browsing the shelves, eagerly collecting drink tickets with their purchases. Their usual group of townies has already claimed front row seats, and everyone else excitedly makes their way to the stage as Patrick approaches the mic. David, not exactly eager to be associated with this event, watches from his perch at the register.

Patrick is practically glowing as he stands at the microphone, a wide, toothy smile forming on his lips when he makes eye contact with David.

"Thanks so much for coming to what I hope will be the first of _many_ open mic nights here at Rose Apothecary."

David tries to bite back the cringe on his face but can't stop the flush at the pointed look Patrick gives him.

"So, I guess I'm gonna get the party started. I want to say thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who's welcomed me to Schitt's Creek with open arms, especially my business partner, David Rose. You've certainly given me a new perspective."

Patrick gives him the sweetest smile as he slings the guitar across his chest, breaking out into some vaguely familiar poppy chords and gently shimmying along. David watches Patrick's thick fingers on the frets, skillfully forming each of the chords, and definitely not daydreaming about putting those fingers to good use.

But then, [Patrick starts singing.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PENK3uyEPeQ)

And god, it's like—it feels like being wrapped in a warm blanket. 

_I feel the salty waves come in, I feel them crash against my skin_

_And I smile as I respire because I know they'll never win._

David hasn't heard this song since he was mobbed by tweens after he made out with Brendon backstage at Reading Festival.

_Can we fast forward till you go down on me?_

Patrick winked at him. Button-up Patrick Brewer fucking _winked_ at him during a song lyric about eating ass.

_Stop there, and let me correct it, I wanna live a life from a new perspective._

_You come along because I love your face, and I'll admire your expensive taste._

Maybe David is just imagining it, but it feels like Patrick hasn't taken his eyes off him. Those earnest, bright eyes drawing him in.

_And who cares, divine intervention, I wanna be praised from a new perspective._

Okay, Patrick is definitely making eye contact. David isn't sure if he wants to shrink into his sweater forever or eat Patrick out till he screams his name. Both?

_Other plans fell through and put a heavy load on you_

_I know there's no more that need be said when I'm inching through your bed._

The song ends with the brightest smile on Patrick's face, and a round of applause seemingly impossibly loud. It thunders in David's ears along with his heartbeat, drowning out everything else. David wishes he could live forever in this moment as Patrick's gaze lingers on him and his ecstatic grin softens to something more tender, but he's brought back to reality with the introduction of Bob's beat poetry.

David eventually retreats to the safety of the back room after a couple particularly cringe-inducing performances, taking time to mentally recharge before, presumably, either having to choke down his feelings again or having an actual honest conversation with Patrick.

He hears people begin to filter out the front door and reluctantly forces himself off the couch. The store is quiet again, with just Twyla remaining to help fold chairs despite Patrick's insistence on handling it. They listen to a rambling tale about a cousin's ex-husband's stepmom whose pet raccoon was mistaken by the municipal roadkill cleanup employees.

Eventually, Twyla gives each of them a hug, one accepted more readily than the other, and heads out the front door with a bright smile. David takes the opportunity to slip into the back room again, still more affected than he'd like to admit.

"Hey."

David startles as Patrick appears in the doorway, the light behind him glowing like the halo of the angel that is Patrick Brewer.

"Everything okay?"

_Totally fine, just imagining myself blowing up a hypothetical relationship with you and driving you away leaving myself with literally nothing._

"Um, yeah. All good," David lies.

"Do you...want to talk about it?" Patrick asks, because button-up Patrick Brewer can see straight through him.

"There's nothing really to talk about," David lies again with a shrug.

"I'm not going anywhere, you know," Patrick takes a seat next to him on the couch. Their couch. "You made this my home, David, and I'm so glad that I decided to invest in your business."

"That's...a lovely thing to say," David chokes out then bites back a smile, trying desperately to cling to the shreds of self-preservation and distrust that seem to float away in Patrick's presence.

"And I'm so glad you did, Patrick, because you helped turn it into the success that it is," Patrick says in an incredibly incorrect impression of David's voice.

"Mm, a bold claim," David's smile breaks free.

David stares at Patrick's eyes for a second, bright even in the dimly lit room, before the corner of Patrick's mouth curves upward. And maybe, finally, David can let himself read the signs. He can let himself believe Patrick, and believe that he's different. He can let himself have this.

_He's not going anywhere._

David's not sure who started leaning in first, but his breath hitches as they meet in the middle, finally— _finally—_ feeling Patrick's lips on his. Finally feeling Patrick's light stubble under his hand. Finally hearing a soft moan escape from Patrick's throat.

It's heaven.

A tentative hand reaches up the back of David's sweater as David drags his own up the outside of Patrick's thigh, resting it at the top. David leans into Patrick's touch, hoping to lead him on as David allows Patrick's tongue to explore his mouth.

Patrick gets the hint, shoving his hands under David's sweater as David rolls Patrick on top, bracketing Patrick's thighs around his hips. An undeniable bulge presses against David's torso now, and he groans into Patrick's mouth as he grips Patrick's ass to pull them together. A desperate whimper escapes Patrick's throat.

"You wouldn't believe the things you do to me, David," Patrick murmurs with a drag of his cock against David's chest and a subsequent gasp.

"You wouldn't believe the things I _want_ to do to you," David blurts out with a growl, because fuck mental filters.

"Fuck, David, tell me," Patrick begs hoarsely before pulling him back into a desperate kiss. "Tell me what you're gonna do to me."

"If I'm not mistaken, in front of half the town you asked me to eat you out," David smirks, pressing a gentle kiss, feeling Patrick's body shudder against him with a moan. "I'd fuck you with my tongue, get you close, not quite there. My fingers next, but I don't let you come. You're desperate and begging for my cock, so close that by the time I finally give it to you—"

"Oh my god, David, I—if you don't touch me I'm gonna come in my _fucking_ pants," Patrick moans and desperately fumbles for the button on his jeans.

"Fuck, yes," David breathes, swiftly guiding Patrick up to stand against the wall, pressing the length of his body against Patrick's solid frame. Patrick leans his head back, standing with his mouth ajar, hands pawing at David's back.

Shamelessly, David rolls their hips together, both gasping at the drag of their clothed erections. Patrick whimpers into the side of David's neck, hands drifting downward to squeeze David's ass.

"Fuck, you're strong," David growls, exhaling against Patrick's temple and grinding into his thigh. "Bet you could make me come with just your fingers inside me."

Patrick lets out a moan that sounds almost inhuman as he brings a hand around to palm David's dick where it strains valiantly against the zipper of his jeans.

"I think you know me well enough to know I take this bet completely seri—"

Patrick's retort is silenced by David's kiss, tongue swiping at Patrick's plump bottom lip. David grinds against Patrick's cock until they're both breathless and gasping into each others' mouths.

"God, I can't wait to get you naked in a bed next time," Patrick breathes, shoving his hands into David's back pockets. "Get my mouth all over you. Fingers inside you."

_Next time._ Maybe David should be more excited about the "mouth all over you" or "fingers inside you," but, _next time._

Of course there's a next time with Patrick. Sure, right now they're business partners talking each other off in their back room, but it goes so much deeper than that _because it's Patrick._

David reaches for Patrick's jeans, hearing his breath hitch as David's finger trails around the metal button.

"Okay?" He asks gently.

"Yes. Please, David," Patrick nods eagerly, darkened eyes unwavering.

"So polite," David murmurs with a smirk as he guides Patrick's tight jeans over his wide hips. He trails his fingers around Patrick's waistband, between the scratchy denim and heather blue boxer briefs until the jeans sit below Patrick's ass.

"New jeans?" David playfully cocks an eyebrow.

An endearing, rosy blush spreads across Patrick's cheeks. "I may have bought them in an attempt to impress this guy that I like?"

There's a snarky fashion-related retort floating around somewhere in David's brain, but it never makes it out because David grips Patrick's cock through his boxers, memorizing every micro-expression crossing Patrick's face. He thumbs over the ridges and wraps his fingers around the girth, feeling a wet spot forming on the fabric. Patrick's eyelids flutter, soft moans leaving his mouth as David grips him.

"Daviiiiid," Patrick whines, bucking his hips forward with a moan. "David, please."

"Mm, we've been waiting for so long, I suppose it'd be rude to make you wait any longer," David murmurs teasingly, his voice almost unrecognizably low as he drops to his knees.

Patrick sucks in a sharp breath, the quiet gasp audible in the silence as he stares, awed, down at David.

"Do you ever think about this?" David asks, giving Patrick's boxers a tug. "Looking down at me with your cock in my mouth?"

"God," Patrick groans, his head leaning against the wall with a _thunk_. "It's a million times better in real life."

"So that's a _yes_?" David smirks, freeing Patrick's cock from the fabric and swallowing him down.

The moan that leaves David's mouth sounds showy, but it's a completely genuine reaction. In his old life, David Rose never _waited_. He took what he wanted—or rather, others took what they wanted from him, most likely—and that was that. The flirting, pining, teasing, wanting, trusting—this is new.

And it makes the dick in his mouth _that_ much better.

David moans around Patrick's cock again, feeling the hands on his shoulders tighten their grip. He gently nudges one, guiding it to the top of his head where he feels Patrick reverently stroke through the hair and cup his cheek before grabbing a fistful and tugging, sending delicious tingling through David's scalp.

"Holy _fuck_ , David," Patrick groans, hips bucking forward as David traces a finger behind Patrick's balls before giving a gentle tug.

Sensing the desperation in Patrick's whimpers, David brings a hand to stroke more earnestly at the base of Patrick's cock (and also, because god damn that thing is a _mouthful_ ).

David works his hand in time with his lips, moaning as he feels Patrick's hand move first to his bicep then to cup his cheek, as if he needs proof that it's indeed David whose mouth and hands are on him. Patrick touches him gently, tentatively, and David wants to tell Patrick—he wants to _show_ Patrick—how much he can take. But for now, David lets out another moan as he swirls his tongue around the head of Patrick's cock and feels Patrick's hand drift back to his hair.

"David," Patrick whimpers alongside a tug of his hair. Another, more urgently, " _David!_ "

"Mmmmm," David looks up at Patrick's face contorted with pleasure.

"Gonna—gonna come," Patrick sputters and gently nudges David backward.

David swallows Patrick back down, gripping his ass with both hands so his intentions are clear. And because, to be honest, he's wanted a handful of that ever since he walked back into Ray's that first day and saw Patrick bent over a table.

Patrick gently fucks into David's mouth a few times before he comes with a dreamy moan, and David swallows greedily around Patrick's cock until Patrick starts to whine from the overstimulation.

David wraps his arms around Patrick's sturdy thigh not unlike a koala, breathing ragged breaths into the pale skin, resting his forehead against strong quadriceps. His cock is throbbing in his jeans, straining against the zipper. More than once he'd gotten closer to coming in his pants than he'd care to admit.

"David," Patrick breathes, still sagging against the wall.

"Mmm," David allows himself to be pulled into a standing position as Patrick zips his jeans back up.

"Tell me how to make you feel good," Patrick murmurs, and something in his expression makes David choke up a bit upon meeting Patrick's eyes. It's so fond and earnest, so _trusting_ , so unlike anyone David's been with in the past.

David considers (more like _agonizes over_ ) what to say. Everything Patrick does makes him feel good, though that seems wildly incorrect to say to one's business partner in a stockroom hookup. Would he like to see those pink lips stretched around his cock? Those whiskey eyes staring up at him? Absolutely, but it's purely fantasy unless Patrick wants—

Patrick (thank god) silences David's thoughts with a tender kiss. "Would it feel good if I touched you?"

"God, yes," David nods, melting under the soft kisses and roaming hands making their way to his fly, happy to cede control, his sigh half relief and half arousal as Patrick tugs the zipper down.

The warm, strong grip of Patrick's fingers sends a shudder through David. He fucks into Patrick's hand helplessly, clinging to those broad shoulders for dear life as he pants into Patrick's neck.

"Oh my god, David," Patrick moans, breath tickling behind David's ear as Patrick's firm hand strokes him.

"Mm lube in the file cab'nt," David mumbles, his words apparently only half working.

"What's that?" Patrick has a smug grin plastered across his lips when David looks up after feeling laughter shaking Patrick's body.

"I keep lube in the file cabinet," David's face might literally be on fire, already regretting his sex-drunk admission. "This is, like, the only privacy I get? And I tend to be, um, inspired. While I'm here."

Patrick immediately crowds up against him before David can fully die of embarrassment.

"Fuck, that's hot," Patrick kisses down David's jawline before reaching for the drawer, each press of his lips tender but urgent.

When Patrick's hand returns, it's slick with lube and David moans as Patrick pumps his hand over David's cock.

"So when you say 'inspired,'" Patrick begins, voice low and almost a growl. "You touch yourself in here thinking about me?"

David nods, forcing himself to focus on how very, _very_ into it Patrick seems to be, and not the incredibly unprofessional confession he just made.

"Holy fuck, David," Patrick breathes, his breath hot and ragged against David's neck as he softly drags his teeth against the sensitive skin. "God, you look so gorgeous like this. So desperate for me."

Patrick's fist moves almost agonizingly slowly, drawing out every stroke, leaving David writhing and panting and not quite ready to unpack Patrick's last statement. He's been on the edge for what feels like hours, Patrick never giving him quite enough to come, keeping him maddeningly desperate.

"Please," David whimpers, hands scrabbling at Patrick's back, face buried in his neck. His hips thrust of their own volition, seeking any pleasure he can wring from Patrick's hand gripping his dick. "Need to come for you."

"Yeah?" Patrick sounds almost disbelieving, pumping his fist more fervently against the movement of David's hips.

"Yes, yes, please, oh—oh god, Patrick—"

David can feel Patrick's muscles tense along with all of his own as he comes, Patrick groaning almost as loud and Patrick's hand stroking him through it.

It takes a minute for David's pounding heartbeat to calm as he sags uselessly against Patrick, who, somehow, supports his weight as David's own legs refuse to. Dimly, he registers Patrick easing him back to the couch and pressing the tenderest of kisses.

"Gotta clean up, don't wanna ruin your sweater," he murmurs before disappearing.

The silence is deafening as the post-orgasm glow fades, sitting alone in the back room. David feels _cold_ now. Not physically cold—he'll probably never get the smell out of this poor Givenchy—but like he's been dunked in cold water.

David hears the bathroom sink running as he zips his jeans back up, and the painful silence after the water shuts off stretches for what feels like ages. He'd showed his hand, bared his soul, in the heat of the moment, too far gone to map out the possible repercussions. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised to hear an escape through the back door, receive an awkward text in the morning, and never see Patrick again.

But he's proven wrong almost instantly, hearing the soft padding of Patrick's footsteps which pause in the doorway.

"Was that—is everything okay, David?" Patrick asks softly.

"Are you still, um, 'not going anywhere?'" David's almost afraid to ask, squeezing his eyes shut while forcing the words out, all while mentally preparing for the worst.

"David," Patrick barely holds back a laugh. "Was it unclear how much I like you?"

David opens an eye slightly to find Patrick next to him on the couch, cheeks flushed a bit pink and wearing that stupid upside-down smile that totally, absolutely does not live rent-free in David's brain.

"Maybe you could, um," David's voice, suddenly feeling thick, cracks like a fucking teenager. He clears his throat. "Maybe you could just—say it so I know for sure?"

"David," Patrick says his name so tenderly it makes David want to melt. Patrick's hands meet David's where they currently have a death grip on his own triceps, subconsciously crossed so tightly it's starting to ache. Patrick gently unfurls each finger, uncrosses David's arms, and rubs soothing circles into David's palms.

"David, I—" Patrick falters, seemingly searching for words. "You make me feel—all the things you're supposed to feel. You make me feel _right_ , in a way that—that nobody else has. It felt like...my first time. Something just clicked for me when I met you."

David had been expecting at most a compliment to his fashion sense or aesthetic, maybe to his cock sucking skills, but this? He's not even remotely prepared for this.

"Well, if we're being honest with each other," David croaks out, trying to avoid Patrick's eyes currently staring into his soul. "Something...clicked for me too. I've kissed like, a thousand people, but nobody that I...cared about. Or respected. Or thought was nice. So in a way, it's like we're both starting something new."

"I'm excited to start something new with you, David," Patrick's expression is almost unbearably fond, taking David's hands in his again. "And hey, for the record, I also respect you and think that you're a good person."

"Mm, it's just, I said _nice person_ ," The smile tugging at the corner of David's mouth definitely gives him away.

"I know."

"I just need you to say _nice person_."

"You're a good person."

"That's not nice."

**Author's Note:**

> Patrick Brewer wrote this song and you cannot change my mind.  
> [Also come say hi on tumblr!](https://hey-moooon.tumblr.com/)


End file.
